


White Wolf shorts

by ThornShay



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-05-17 10:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornShay/pseuds/ThornShay
Summary: Adult themed stories within the Witcher world. None completely intended to be connected.





	1. White Wolf and The Viper

A lonesome road awaited the Witcher of Rivia, Rivian in name only, riding his steed Roach through a forgotten passage route of the northern realms for the destination known solely to the white wolf, and guarded closely with the sum of many intentions in his machinations, when Geralt of Rivia had first "met" with his fellow Witcher from the School of the Viper—recognizing the man for what he was by the glow of his cat-like eyes and the silver glowing reflection from the sun on his medallion—waiting for the proceeding of impending execution by the hands of a lynch mob.

‘Reminds me of Rivia, once…’ Geralt thought.

"For Temeria," one peasant declared self-righteously. With great gusto. "Slay the Kingslayer! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!" Encouraging; cheering; chanting for their ringleader—a ugly, ungainly fellow almost as ugly as Nivellen—to stretch the unfortunate fellow's neck with the noose.

"The North Will be revenged! In full."

"Oh please, come now." Waving his wrist and motioning fingers into small gestures, Geralt unleashed his Axii sigil on the vengeful crowd. Some listen, for the right words. Appealing to their sensible side, as if these louts had a fiber of sense to them. Assuring them "There's no need for that, good man. You have him confused for another."

Waiting for the cast to win them through a forced persuasion, editing honey into his words, the expressions on their face provided all the validation Geralt needed to see he had won their decision as a man cut the viper loose of his bindings. Replying in compliance "Right, o' course he is. Our mistake, ser."

"Right, honest mistake...Could've happened to anyone…" the other, much younger, Witcher jested ostensibly as he rubbed his sore wrists. A young man, likely half a century old in Witcher years, with darkened brown hair and a head reaching to meet Geralt's height below only a inch. Stepping down from the wooden block, slowly, with woozy steps and a pale complexion—more pale than even the famed Geralt of Rivia through his everyday life—while struggling through a dizzy daze. Geralt gleamed a glimpse of the tattoo on his arm, of the five sigils every Witcher is required to master within the time of their training—printed under the skin of his left arm in black ink—with cut marks on his arm.

They bled him, just enough to keep him alive and docile so he couldn't fight back or think straight.

Helping the man to maintain balance on his two feet, Geralt whispered to him "Whoa, easy there," as he wrapped one of the man's arms around the back of the collar to his black studded jacket "Easy, friend. You must've lost a lot of blood."

A fiery eyed crow ever observant, spying.

Relaxing as Geralt helped him to walk, the young man asked "Wait…what about…?" as a sudden thought occurred to him "My swords…I'm gonna need 'em back."

Searching around them, Geralt finds the weapon pair. "I see them." Helping the man onto the back of his seat on Roach, he swiftly retrieved the weapons and hosted the silver and steel blades on the sides of his Zerrikanian saddle.

Pressing his boots into the mare's side, Geralt barked at his steed "Move, Roach!" Sending the stallion into a long canter down the country road. Sending the pair in the opposite direction of the destination gwynbleidd had intended and instead for Flotsam—a trading outpost Geralt had not visited since his time with Vernon Roche and Ves when among the ranks of Foltest's special forces, the Blue Stripes, when they killed Loredo for...reasons. While hunting for the Kingslayer Letho of Gulet.

"Thanks…" the young Witcher blurted out over Geralt's shoulder, after some moments passed during their time on the road. Placing a hand over one of his ribs as they ride, struggling to retain his senses through the hours as his mind lost itself among the dizzy blurs. "To be honest, I was pretty sure they had me until you passed by."

"I'd say you were lucky, but I have the feeling you're not the lucky type." Geralt joked with his new traveling companion. Before introducing himself "I'm Geralt, by the way." speaking bluntly as possible "Geralt of Rivia."

"Eren," the young man retorted kindly, to the best of his ability. "Eren of Loc Muinne."

"What did you do to piss 'em off? They seemed to think you're the damned Kingslayer, and last I checked you look nothing close to him; aside from a similar taste in viper school medallions."

"That properly sums up the furies back their, at least in regards to reason." Eren explained. "I was hired to track a pack of these ghouls doawn near Vergen, and when I finished, and my client paid me, word had just reached the town about Foltest's murder."

"So. Everyone thought the culprit was in chains."

"The news was that he was framed, and the real murderer was a Witcher—from a different school; the viper school—then they remembered a certain Witcher was leaving town and gave chase. Took 'em three weeks to finally capture me."

"They chased you for three whole weeks? I don't buy it."

It was not unlikely other Viper school Witchers would suffer dogma, after all the murder and mayhem Letho, Auckes and Serrit caused in the north Eren was lucky to be alive. But to hunt one Witcher—who could slaughter an entire village seemed more trouble than a collection of the lower class could bother themselves with, or to deviate from the daily routine of farming essential to feed their families.

Though, in hindsight, being Nilfgaardian would do them no favors.

"Not constantly. They put up a notice in all the neighboring villages, and then I stopped through the wrong village. Got careless, and before I knew it some vagabond was clobbering me upside the head and threatening to fill me with arrows."

"Ouch...sounds painful…?"

"Really…? I thought it sounded like a good way to pass the time, maybe roast some sausages while I waited to bleed to death." Eren joked. "So...Geralt, why'd you spring me? Last I heard, one of my mates framed you for Regicide."

"He was used, just like me. And I'm pretty sure guilt-by-association dosen't justify lynching a man."

"Heh, True. So, very, very true." He seemed to accept the logic Geralt present, or was so worn down mentally and physically drained from the strain of torture and bleeding that he no longer cared.

Soon they reached Flotsam, buying themselves and Roach passage on a sea vessel through the Pontar at the first dew on the morrow. All the while Eren remaining silent—not bothering himself to argue against travelling with Geralt any further; safe from danger at the moment, Witcher were safer in numbers.

Safety in numbers. Even more among Fellow Monster-Hunters, I suppose.

Truth be told, to even himself, Geralt of Rivia was clueless as to why he was aiding Eren of Loc Muinne further to distance himself from the area of his near execution. Almost flabbergasted by his own actions.

Maybe he wanted to help a fellow Witcher in need, and maybe one day Witchers won't be sterile and maybe the laws of nature will bend to my will; or, maybe, he prefered to side against lynch mobs and to spite the cause of a malevolent crowd thoroughly—with the lingering memory of the last days of his old life with Yennefer still fresh in his mind, ending when a pitchfork impaled his chest during a race riot in Rivia. So perhaps cynical Geralt had more than a innocent nature incentive to aid the stranger, but truly, whoever chooses the morally good action for selfless reasons.

Geralt had not, by any means, since that day he first escaped. Often without a reason as to why she should not. Even if he prefered to not choose.

It seemed that from the time her first left, rushing down the pontar in pursuit of the kingslayer after Triss' kidnapping, the trading-post remained relatively unchanged by the aftermath of Geralt's actions in Loc Muinne with Henselt. Mediocre guards still patrolled the dirt streets leading into town from the wilds and docks, strumpets gallivanted near the brothel and inn, and the gallows remained on standby in anticipation for the next hanging and public declarations by the new governor. Such was the only pastime in this squalor of life, with the Kayran no longer a suitable concern for the denizens. But—unlike the villas and vineyards of Toussaint—the persistence of tradition was not a sight men of Geralt of Rivia's caliber would welcome.

Leaving the seat of his horse, Geralt joined Eren once dusk settled during the fast approach of the night time—discovering his new friend in a new wing of the Flotsam inn, seated in a chair with his foot on a rest. Joining the former Nilfgaardian after a night of blissful indulgence, the White Wolf seated himself into a chair beside Eren's own; silent initially to the other's presence.

Both willingly ignoring the dozens of human and dwarven patrons pissing and moaning about in the room. Grovelling on the state of the north in the wake of Nilfgaard's invasion.

"So this barge we're boarding, where's it taking' me? So I can plan my travels. Need to prepare for the journey, and the next ambush." Eren finally broke the silence between them. After hours of sleep, recovering his strength and mental fortitude, he was finally returning to a competent level befitting of a Witcher.

"Not far. We'll arrive near the capital, I was on my way when I met you—this deter actually cut my travel time, somewhat."

"Headed for the front lines, then?"

"Something like that. Looking for a old friend, but I have to meet up with an even older one first before then."

"Sounds like a promising venture," Eren scoffed. "I'll just be grateful to be done with with place, it was a piss hole when Loredo governed it, still a piss hole now that he's dead."

"Yeah, that figures. Not the best place to visit, but there are places much worse."

"Can you think of a place in the continent, outside of a castle or bustling town, that isn't something besides a fucking hole? Or even a decent surprise."

"I know a few places. Toussaint...The House of Glass…—"

"House...of Glass…? Like a house made of glass?"

"It's a long story…"

"Sound like a interesting one." Eren pried, left curious for this long story of Geralt's, pulling himself out a flagon of White Gull.

Recognizing he would not relent, and at a loss for any further plans for the night—not involving the women serving them, any further—Geralt orders himself vodka, mumbling "What the hell," and begins to recount the tale.

When one travels through the Land of the Angren, he once discovered a manor called the House of Glass in Caed Dhu—known plainly as the Black Forest—with a widower fisherman and hunter named Jakob Ornstine.

"Met a woman calling herself Vara, a Succubus. She was travelling from Vengerberg to Riedbrune with a small caravan of what she assumed were merchants, but in actuality were thieves, and found herself fleeing with the group into the forest to escape unhappy soldiers."

Eren all the while fully entertained, feeling himself drawing closer to being ready for a night's rest.

"But it turned out Jakob's wife was never killed by a monster, or turned into a bruxae; that he killed her after he caught his wife and the blacksmith fornicating. By the end she had her revenge through a Leshin and Grave Hag, or so I gathered based on the sounds I could hear from Jakob's screams as Marta declared 'your bones will be wind chimes. Your skin will be turned into breaches. Your teeth will be a necklace. And your memory will be but the wind.'"

"Hah. Serves the bastard right for what he did. What about the succubus?"

"Never saw her again after that. Or the avenged spirit. I scurried myself and Roach off to the nearest village after we escaped from the forest."

A-hour-and-a-half after starting his tale, Geralt lost sight of Eren in the dark of the inn. Sharing enough drinks for his recollection of the night to become lost on him. Last Geralt saw of him, he had been making himself chummy with a dark-haired she-elf in the room's corner in a conversation about local ruins of the old elves.

Retreating to his own room for the night, preparing to rest without a sound to be heard as his swords rested against the wooden frame of the bed's footing.

Eavesdropping only the steps of patrolling boots and the signs of a whore plying her trade in the rooms and alleys below.

One hour later...

A arkless crow, ever sitting, still is sitting, perched at the wooden bust of a street post stares long through into the open frames with eyes glowing with all the silent seething of a demon's fiery gaze ever more. Vigilantly stalking, still stalking from the moment he and Eren met and onwards, tracing Geralt's movements ever more.

A crone laughed distantly, preparing the beginnings of the greatest of surprises for White Wolf before the first dew on the morrow could prepare, toying with the shard betwixt her fiddling fingers through her time in the distorted blackness surrounding her on this, their perfect night for Geralt of Rivia.

Two hours later...

Despite the lack of danger and Flotsam's relative peace in the chaotic times, nights were sorely lacking in the images of a refreshing dreams when the eyes of Geralt of Rivia shut themselves like a bank vault. Tightly closed. Even in his best efforts, the nightmares remain the same. Waking him, stirring him from sleep with the inhuman whispers of the Wild Hunt. Lacking company of a missing ginger, the means by which Geralt often distracted himself from the sea of nightmares was possible no more. Regardless of the wine he consumed and whom he shared a bed with.

By the first outcry of a massacre out in the halls, Geralt was relieved by the excuse to resume his journey. Finally,

Reaching for his weapons as a man kicked the door in, Geralt prepared himself for battle when another Witcher's blade impaled the man's chest from behind—through the back and out to his front with the overflow of blood filling the raider's lungs as he struggled to exclaim a final cry of pain in the heat of his violent end.

Exposing Eren to view behind him.

Letting the pockmarked man collapse to the ground, convulsing with more gargles of blood, lying in a darkened puddle that continued to spread on the crevices and into the open spaces of the cracks within the wooden floor.

Still reeling, amidst the adrenaline, to understand as to what transpired before saying "I had 'im, Eren. You could've let me handle this one."

Shrugging his shoulders, indifferently, Eren of Loc Muinne responded "Yes, I figured you could, but we have a ship to catch. And it's going to leave early."

Not wanting to waste their time further, Geralt grabbed his empty scabbard and sheather silver sword and rushed through the inn—still overcome with a cacophony of the violence to erupt in-between Geralt's bad dreams.

"What happened?"

"A elf and a dwarf pissed off the wrong human governor's brother, then another human punched the wrong other human by accident—that was as far as someone would tell me before a cleaver made their skull into its new home."

Men and women slaughtering one another senselessly, overcome by a spell of ranting hate. Worse than the merciless persecution to more often claim the lives of non-humans.

"Die, bleeding mutant!" one man exclaimed. Charging towards Geralt with a dull knife in hand, before the double-edged sword slashed across the man's face. Following with a upward stab through the man's chest.

Eren joked "Or not." blasting a second man to reach for Geralt, flinging the man across the room with Aard. Cutting a third man's hand off in parry of deflecting one hew from the hatchet before liberating a hand from the arm.

Cutting himself a clear path, Geralt decapitated one man—leaving three others men to bleed out from missing hands and feet. Dodging a wayward bottle of vodka to fling his way before exiting through the wreckage of the open doorway.

Fighting through the crucible to reach Roach at the stables before boarding the merchant vessel with Eren before the angry mob could reach them. Burning the trading post to the ground around the humans in a blaze for substitution of the Witchers.

It seemed Flotsam was doomed to suffer a repeat of the past. Riots and racism, like every small town and village Geralt has the misfortune to visit.

Strangely, though, as Geralt looked back from the deck to the destruction of Flotsam he could have sworn that—through the eroding flames on the dawning horizon—a demon stared back into his eyes from the flame. Registering all the seething features of a eldritch devil molding amidst the fires. Laughing, cackling at the plight as Geralt and his friend retreated with only the small portions of Flotsam to retain their wits amongst the madness.

His sword of steel smithing still glistening with the blood of the victims to the primordial chaos to consume the men in a fervent hate and thirst for violence which both Geralt and Eren could still feel within them as they continued to sail.

Both the wolf head and viper medallions vibrated in the wake of Rivia's epiphany.

Sharing in his friend's gaze of the fire, the viper could deny the face with little resulting success.

"Hey, Geralt..."

"Yeah…?"

"You ever get the feeling something bad is after you? For all the wrong reasons."

"Yep. Right now, I'm having that very same feeling. And it's screaming."

Both men, one disheartened by the sight of pointless carnage and the other perplexed, continued gawking. The survivors to join them aboard the vessel could only ask among themselves "Should we be afraid of fire or them?"

A young man answered "Both, I daresay."

Onward through the upper Pontar...

He remained on the ship, sailing long through the river at a duration longer than he had originally anticipated, may have seemed counterproductive to his goals. But, honestly, Geralt could not have been safer for the moment. Between the squirrels attacking, and the witch hunts hunting, he and Eren would have been easy targets for a new mob—even if they could kill a large quantity of assailants they would have eventually become overwhelmed by the sheer number of men to charge them. Like at Rivia. At least...they were for a time being. Waiting below deck, as they continued to sail with the winds working against them, Geralt watched as a boy mage toyed with his powers on a candle while Eren rested his eyes. Sleeping in a hammock, oblivious, as the wonder transpired before Geralt—distracting the Vatt'ghern along the perpetual trip along the river—as the young boy of a ten-year-old-age raised and lowered his hand, granting the flame a high rise as the palm stretched up and descended to its lower point when he again returned to a low thrust down. Watching with his swords rested against the oak wall beside him, Geralt pondered the stretch of his journey. The abortion in the flames still a constant in the Rivian's mind when the first crash erupted throughout the sea vessel—alerting the passengers to their latest plight and the crisis transpiring over the water, sending Geralt up from the seat of his bed to run for the upper level with sword in hand to assess the damage their sails and other faculties essential to continue navigating the waters through the water passage—retaining only the brief memory of a skirmish on the main deck with a competent raider wielding a battle ax before washing on the sand and grass of the shores; coughing out the water to occupy his lungs, with shards of wood lodged into the right side of his ribs. The pain was only a slight irritation at first, believing he had been scratched by his opponent, and then grew to be a constant thought as he pulled himself up from the wet surface beneath him. Staggering through the rough hewn roads of dirt and rocks of the wilds, attempting intensely to suppress the sharp pain in his side, Geralt fought against his blood loss to survive the journey.  His travel continued for days, following a swift recovery in the countryside—the wreckage of his ship discovered weeks later and the destruction wrought by the natural disaster was blamed on what the local populace called the D'yaebl Aen Doltuvean (Devil from the dale of death). And Eren of Loc Muinne’s remains unrecovered...as only circulating rumors and whispers emerged to Geralt’s attention concerning the Viper —some claim he survived only to die in a nameless skirmish and others that Emrys now traveled with a regiment of the Scoia’tael alongside a lover, Geralt could not be certain any of the stories were true. He was convinced he never would.


	2. Midcopse Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A incoherent story about a scenario in which Geralt had the option of starting a relationship with Keira Metz beyond a one-night stand.

North East of Midcopse.

Passing Crow’s Perch, Roach trotted through the countryside of Velen. In the pursuit of Nilfgaard’s leads into the whereabout of his ward, Ciri, Geralt discovered their spy Hendrik was murdered with much of the inhabitant to the village as the hamlet of Heatherton was slaughtered by the Wild Hunt—absconding with much of his information into the grave. Searching through his abode, Geralt discovered Hendrik had chronicled much of his finding into a journal hidden beneath his hut.

From there Geralt continued his pursuit, now finding himself close to his second lead—a witch reported to reside on the fringe of civilization near an additional village to the farther south-west, near the spitfire bluff of Velen. So he set out, and now was close to his first lead in hunting for a Witch. Swallowing his pride, he would inquire to the locals for directions—suffering their reverse pretension for the sake of his search to find Ciri. Through his search in the village, Geralt eventually found a woman mumbling complaints to herself.

“Should send him back to the witch, might cure him of his laziness.”

“Greetings, ma’am.”

“Good day to you, sir. Need something?”

“Got a matter for your village witch. Know where I might find her?”

“I don’t bother with her meself, but ask my man—he’ll know. Twerked his back so bad he could hardly move. So I sent him to the witch. Came back sprightly as a foal!”

“Where is he?”

“In the yard, no doubt. Pain’s gone, but sloth’s set in now. Should be huntin’ foxberries, to feed our young ‘uns.” she continued, ranting before Geralt’s disinterested festered to block out the rest after “Marian’s lad-” Though, thankfully, she proved to be correct—her husband resting his back again the fence when the Witcher approached him.

“Good day. Heard you know where to find the local witch.”

“Who told you that?”

“Your wife.”

“Daft wife.” the husband cursed, hinting neither anger nor spite for his spouse, but mild ire for Geralt’s snooping. “Leave me be, and don’t listen to that natterin’ sow.” attempting to further disway the white wolf’s efforts “We’ve not had a witch, shaman, nor cunnin’ wench in ages.” before a tilt of his guest’s hand changed his attitude. Motioning his finger into the parlour trick of his spell. 

“Tell me.”

His agro seemingly purged. “Know the small pond near the village? Path leads off from it. Follow that till you come across a lone rock. Walk around that, into the woods. Find the old cart—you’re there.”

Thanking him, Geralt noticed the man become concerned. “It’s just...don’t harm her, sir. Word of your kind’s reached these parts.”

“My kind…?” Geralt repeated, both confused and somewhat offended “Meaning…?”

“Well, the witch-burnin’ kind.”

“Witch hunters have been here already?”

“Nay, but we’ve heard tell of ‘em. So when I spied you comin’, swords and all, straightaway I thought tales must be true.”

“I’m a witcher. Not a Witch hunter.”

“Hmm? What, not one and the same?”

“No.” Geralt responded brooding. “No need to worry. I’m not out to hurt your witch.”

“Oo, a weight of me heart, sir. She only arrived a short while ago, but she’s frighteningly wise.” relieved, the husband shared “Even pleasant on the eyes, if you like ‘em skinny.”

‘ _ Once. In certain circle. _ ’

Expressing his gratitude, “Thanks for the help. Farewell.” Geralt departed to the pond and located the boulder. Killings Nekkers on the route to reach the abandoned cart.

A locals pleas soon heard distantly “What am I to do with Yagna? Poor girl’s a-hurtin’, don’t milk. And we’ve another young ‘un on the way...” before Geralt encroached on the hut. Then another starts “Miss...Cow’s a-wheezin’, won’t rise from the barn floor. Pus streams from ‘er snout…”

Then a cruel, almost elitist, voice responds “Do I look like a dairy maid to you?”

Soon Geralt glimpses sight of a young woman, just like the husband back in Midcopse described—slender and outwardly beautiful—with features familiar to his eyes. With straw, petite, blond hair, blue eyed, fair skin, barefoot and in a long elegant dress of blue and purple garment and beaded necklaces. The woman of significance at the moment noticing as Geralt stepped around the corner; leaning against the outside of cottage wall. Patiently awaiting his turn, Geralt of Rivia locked his eyes with Keira Metz.

Halting the update of the latest blight, “I shall give you herbs. Mix them with water drawn from the spring at midnight, then make the cow eat them. But first you must clean out your barn. Thoroughly, is that clear?”

“Thank you, miss! A thousand thanks!”

“Enough! I’ve had my fill for the day—go home!” soon after disappearing back inside the retreat of her hut ‘or maybe it counts as a cottage?’

Leaving the villagers to speak in hushed tones, and Geralt hearing them gossip “She’s in a fowl mood.” “Needs a man.”

Inadvertently haughty, maybe even with intent, Keira appeared unchanged in the last decades.

A sorceress to hail from Carreras, her want of luxury and lusting of both reported pleasure and finery cementer her with the reputation among the lodge of sorceress as infamous. Thus forcing genuine surprise into Geralt’s heart upon seeing her stationed to the front of the witch’s hut—Keira’s hut—receiving the village complaints with a sullen face; compelled by some unseen force to remain still in her place and suffer through their collected gripe. A position ensuring relentless chores, when considering the trivial matters of life in the wilds and and uncharted parts of Velen. Though, based on his view of today, the tolerance she forced herself to develop was limited; with her patient limit reached before retreating inside. Reminding Geralt of Rivia of a sorceress or two to cross his path.

Geralt had loved a sorceress before, on two separate occasions, actually; where the passion was not confined to a single tryst and then parting from each other as strangers. Yen was the first, the first great love of his life before losing the memory of his old life—the recollection of a previous lifetime stolen from him, until recent events; and then Triss. Geralt did not believe in fairy tales—yet with Triss he dared to hope they would persevere. Outlasting Shani and enduring through the end of his service to King Foltest, sharing a moment of bliss and a red flower before the revelation of Letho as an agent of Nilfgaard. Eventually they both realize they could not last. And the Rose of Remembrance, like their love, withered and crumbled into nothingness. For his own sake, Geralt hoped both parts of his love life were concluded—indefinitely.

The gossip jarring him back into the present, Geralt motioned towards the door—trespassing into her abode once the last villagers were beyond his sight and hearing. Calling out “Anyone home?” to the emptied space of a bed, some tables, other trivial objects on the desks and shelves as the witcher inspected the hut’s contents. Finding a note on her bed, addressing a Alexander with pleasantries and wishing to discuss a shared interest in plague research, preferably over a glass of wine...or two.

Looming over the nearest table “Ordinary ointment...nothing special.” then down the elongated small room to a pile of books “Hm, managed to amass quite a book collection.” before glimpsing a pentagram of chalk sketched on the floor. At last discovering she had vanished. “Now where did she run off to?” A bauble resting on a nearby desk and then...a skull, with arcane depictions carved into the surface o bone. “Powerful aura—must be some artifact, or…” Touching the oddity, a portal blasted into place on the wall before the chalk pentagram. “So this is where you disappeared to.”

His discomfort aside, few obstacles prevented him from progressing. Stepping into the blackness within the yellow outline, Geralt found himself entering a realm detached from the standings in Velen which Geralt had ventured to reach and now he stood within a magically-charged chamber.

“Well, well. Nice.” glimpsing a small tower surrounded by a forest; within a mystical underground cavern. Rabbits scampering through the conjured realm. Fumbling through the area, pondering the direction to travel before the woman’s sensual voice once again spoke out “I was wondering how long it would take you, Geralt.” Beckoning, the woman’s voice once again spoke out down to Geralt from the upper level of the small tower. Either teasing or lecturing, he could not be certain. Nor could Geralt discern if he cared. “I’m upstairs. Don’t be shy.”

Quickly locating the flight of circular stairs, Geralt heeded her beckoning and suggestion. Passing along the intricate path of dirt among the kept field of grass and yellow assortments, before ascending the circular frame of stones with small traces of moss on seldoms steps and a candle or two as the white rabbits continued to flock about the area. Discovering at the center on the tower’s higher level—bathing in a tubs, with two benches stone or cement holding a pillow on each and another candle behind one, other candles over her head on the wood walls constructed around the bath, and a additional small stack of books—Keira Metz waiting for him. Naked and continuing to wash herself from inside the water; persisting to purge filth from her body, even when no longer visible when he stepped forward and continued to do so until stopping at the foot of the stairs. The sorceress coyly displaying the pleasant view of her nude, Keira hoisted up her leg; continuing to wash. Hearing the creak of the wood beneath his one step towards her before stopping while she continued the motion—stoking the hands across her leg. Releasing her grip and feeling her arm when Geralt eventually chose to break their collected air of silence “Missed a spot.”

Initially feigning to cover her breast and cleavage, Keira looked upon her person and curiously questioned “Where?” looking over her opposite shoulder to his position after failing to recognize the “spot” the witcher spoke of. “Hope you didn’t come to gawk.”

“No. To talk.” With a soft smile, Geralt’s eyes admiring her.

The sorceress responded “Turn around and wait.” before beckoning him—this time—with a hand and teasing smile and glare at his own gaze. Both attractive and playful in her managing the moment between them. Relenting, reluctantly, Geralt motioned himself away from the beautiful woman. Maintaining a smile while hearing the drops of water as she full protruded from the water and escaped onto her feet. Hearing the sound of magic and then they both faced one another, fully clothed. The pleasant view removed.

Resuming the conversation, less abstracted by the excusable distraction from before, Geralt began and said to the Sorceress "Keira Metz deep in the heart of Velen...thought you hated the countryside." genuinely curious as to the circumstances which guided her to inhabit her accommodations of lacking luxury. Though if forced to guess the explanation would be obvious.

In response Keira corrected her old acquaintance "I can assure you I do, now more than ever."

Geralt recrossed his arms "Heard a witch lives here. Never guessed it was King Foltest's former advisor."

Keira remained unfazed, as she told Geralt "I'm so pleased the world's still able to astonish you, Geralt. I actually envy that sense of wonder—common in children, knights errant, and morons." Turning her toan to a bitter tease.

"Hm, someone's grown irritable. Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"I believe I 'greeted you' with a pleasant view." Keira reminded the Witcher "Now tell me what brings you here."

'Straight to business, then' "I'm looking for a certain young woman."

Pacing to seat herself on a bench by her bath, Keira became intrigued. "Oh really. Who?"

"Apparently she quarreled with the local witch."

"Pff" Keira scoffed at Geralt's lead, prepared to fully dismiss the deadman's notes. "Someone's been feeding you horseshit. The girls around here are too stupid to quarrel with me."

"She's not from here."

"You're up to something, Geralt. If I'm to help you, you must tell me what's going on. Who are you looking for?"

"Ciri."

"Ciri? Well...now I understand the secrecy, not to mention the brooding, the fural brow." Keira started to tease at the white wolf while contemplating the possibilities "And you say she had some sort of problem with a witch?"

"So you haven't seen her?"

"I'm certain I haven't. But recently someone asked me about an ashen-haired woman. He claimed she would stand out from the peasant crowd."

"Who was it?"

"Not so fast, Geralt. No humble plea? No offering for the witch?"

"What's your rate these days? A couple dozen eggs? Three hens, maybe?"

Rising to her feet at the end of his quip, Keira told Geralt "My rate rises with every word you speak." Meeting Geralt's stare with a thin space between their faces "I'm not sure you can afford the information anymore."

"Hm, you're pricklier than I remember. Isn't living in nature's lap supposed to be cleansing, calming…?"

"Nature stinks."

Geralt became silent with a grump expression.

"Oh, sod it, don't give me that look. I know it's Ciri we're talking about." Keira calms him. "It was an elf—this individual who asked about Cirilla. No flea-bitten Scoia'tael sloth, either, but an elven mage."

"He say what his name was?" "He didn't. And he wore a mask. Very secretive all around but... I liked him. He was intelligent and composed." "He say what he wanted with Ciri?" "Only that they were to meet in Velen. He wished to know if she'd arrived before he did." "He leave any message for her?"

"No, but he asked that were I to meet her, I should lead her to him." "So you know where to find him?" "Yes, he said he found a hideout in some elven ruins near the village of Midcopse. I'll go there with you." "Why? Think I'll have trouble finding this place?"

"I've unfinished business with this elf. He promised me something, but he never delivered it." Keira enlightened him. "Besides, I know you think as I do—that she might be there. And I'd like to see Cirilla, too." "Let's go, then." 

The pair swiftly disembarking through the portal which returned them to Keira’s hut and then hastened in a journey further south through the countryside to locate the cave among the wilds.

Discovering the ruins with relative ease as the entrance for the hideout became more obvious at a closer gander. A discovery Keira confirmed, exclaiming at the sight “This is the place.” “Been here before?” “No. I was hoping the elf would return as he promised, or else his waif would appear.” Keira elaborated. “At any rate, I’ve no idea what to expect from this place.”

Looking into the darkened passage, Geralt contemplated the grim possibilities and replied “Well let’s find out.”

"I do wonder if the two of you will hit it off." "Not like I wanna bed him. Just want to ask him about Ciri."

With her magic, Keira brightened the area with a small kindling. Enabling sight without the use of his enhanced senses for exploration inside. As they stepped inside, Geralt spied familiar soldiers investigating across the wide interior and on the opposite end of a ruined bridge greatly devastated by time and natural course. Unaware of the two.

"The Wild Hunt." "What?! Phantom riders? That means...I thought they didn't exist!"

"Feast your eyes on the nonexistent, then."

The Hunt members disappeared into a portal.

"Hm. Got a navigator with them." 

"A what?" 

"Can you teleport us to the other side?"

"I'd rather teleport us home. Do you really mean to follow them?"

"Teleport. Hurry up!"

"Not sure I like any of this. Ready. Follow me! Aaaaargh!"

They both enter the portal, separately, but Geralt emerged elsewhere in the cave. Alone with drowners ready to pounce on their next victim; a action they would soon regret.

"Damn portals. Wonder where Keira is now."

"Keira?"

Down a tunnel, he could hear Keira's incantations, as well as other phrases. "Aargh! Geralt! Lillad geach! ...Uuuugh! Lillad geach-" Geralt rushed into the room, seeing she's found a literal rats' nest.

"Geralt, do something! They're crawling out of those holes...! Use a Sign! Or bombs! Anything!"

"Stay calm. They're only rats."

"I hate...! Uggggh! I hate rats!"

Keira continued shrieking throughout the fight: "Geralt! Disgusting! Get them off! Aaaah! Uggggh! It's disgusting! Do you know the diseases they spread?!" Geralt destroyed their nests.

Relaxing, Keira calmed herself "Whew, thank you."

"You that afraid of rats? Could've annihilated them with one spell."

Keira gives him the evil eye.

"Fine, won't say anything... So, what happened to you?"

"There's something here, something that distorts teleportation. I've no idea how they managed to get to the other side problem free."

"Wild Hunt's teleportation magic is different. Got specially trained mages for that—navigators they call them."

If Geralt had expected Metz to be fascinated by the depth of his knowledge to what they were capable or intrigued in learning more of their capabilities, he was only destined for opposition for further investigation. "They can have three helmsmen and a parrot for all I care. I'll not risk that again."

"Let's go. Wild Hunt got a good head start on us, but we still stand a chance."

"Have you gone completely mad? We must leave here at once!"

"If you're scared, turn back. I'm gonna go on."

"Stop it! That's emotional blackmail!"

"You'd really worry about me if I went on alone?"

"You?! I'd be concerned for myself!"

"Then come with me. Just...quick decision, c'mon."

"Very well, have it your way. How did I ever let you talk me into this ridiculous expedition?!"

"I gotta know what the Wild Hunt's doing here."

"But we came to find the elven mage, not fight the Hunt!"

"If they reach him first, we won't get a chance to talk to him. Besides-" Geralt halted himself in mid sentence. Realizing a possible incentive to cause her to question his reasoning.

"Go on, finish. Wait, you've some special interest in the Hunt... Is this about Ciri? There's something you've not told me, isn't there?"

"Come with me and maybe I will."

"Are you always like this? I'm beginning to feel sorry for Triss and Yen. Oh very well. Let's go." They marched onward, discovering a hologram of the mysterious elf activates. Chanting in elvish "Daughter of the Gull. Greetings. I await you, Daughter of the Gull."

Eyes widening at the image, the sorceress was in a moment of recollection of the figure and his mask. "That's him! That's the elf!" Keira directed Geralt to the projection.

The elf continued "Follow the sign of your sword." Then the hologram deactivates. Vanishing into nothingness, much to the wolf’s irritation.

"What was that? An illusion?"

"No... A morphotic projection."

"Message was definitely for Ciri. ‘Daughter of the Gull’ - Lara Dorren's heir."

"Indeed, it is what the elves would title Ciri. But what was the bit about the sign of her sword? A riddle?"

"Yeah, not a hard one, though. Not if you know Ciri named her sword Zireael—Swallow."

"Come now, who aside from you would know that?"

"Might've been the point. Your elven mage secured the passage, hid it, so that only Ciri could find it."

"He failed to foresee that someone like you would show up."

"Nevertheless, I think he was expecting uninvited guests, made some preparations. Let's hope the Wild Hunt ran into some obstacles."

"Well then, let's go. Do you think following the swallows will suffice?" Geralt answered "We'll see." As they entered a large, watery cavern. Defeat clones of the pair. Continuing the solve elven puzzles before entering a room which started to shake as a hidden entrance reveals itself.

Wanting to leave, Keira said "Let's go."

Further in, a massive sparrow design is seen above an inactive portal. Geralt located a smaller swallow glyph, reactivating the portal.

"It worked. Come."

"Sure it's safe?"

"Of course. The elven mage prepared this passage for Ciri. Come on, now."

The two emerge together this time, somewhere unfamiliar. Noticing only a erie calm, Metz told Geralt "It's grown awfully quiet." As he was preparing to reach for his sword, Geralt asked "Is that bad?"

"A bit like the calm before a storm…"

A odd noise erupts from next door, where a golem sentry waits. And then the golem awakes "Zireael not recognized. Intruders. Destroy the intruders."

With a bit of swords and sorcery, the golem is disposed of. Standing over the fallen sentry, Keira said "And that would be that! I knew we'd manage."

"That so? Make sure and tell me beforehand next time."

"My intuition's a fine instrument, witcher. Don't underestimate it. I've some veeery good feelings about you, for instance." Keira assured him more suggestively "In several domains." As they ventured onward as Keira inquired on Geralt's future plans once he located Cirilla.

A question to which Geralt responded "Depends what she wants."

"Imagined it—how it will...transpire? What will she say? What will she look like?"

"No."

Keira becomes shamefully silent. "I'm sorry. For getting ahead of myself. At times I forget...we hardly know each other, certainly not enough to discuss personal matters."

"Not to worry. We'll get there."

Entering further, they discovered more dead golems—frozen solid. A puzzling sight Geralt could easily guess. "They destroyed the mage's sentries? They didn't come here for a friendly chat with the elf."

"Meaning you ever thought they might've?"

A creeping further, the duo finds a large chamber occupied by the Wild Hunt. Raising his staff the warrior mage roared "Shaar'az!" as his allies departed. Sharing in a conversation of the Elder speech, the battle mage then paced in confrontation with the duo—motioning his staff “Shaent tah’vir!” The room grew deathly cold as ice started forming all over the cavern walls. Disembarking with his comrades.

Facing the hazardous sight, Keira asked Geralt "What is this?!"

Gripping his sword, Geralt answered her "The White Frost! Mage from the Hunt summoned it!" Before asking "Can you seal those cracks it's blowing through?!"

Examining the room and distance between the portals, Keira replied "They're too far! We must get closer! I shall shield us with Demetia Crest's Surge! Stand at my side! Da'arian annoi!" Before she erects a barrier that protects herself and Geralt from the chill. Composed she turned back to Geralt "Ready! Stay close! Bhain'ne calar! We must close them...!"

"Want me to go...?!"

"I'll do it, just cover me! An Gal Scam'Hanach!" She closed the first frost-spewing portal. "Whew, I'm beginning to think we might make it. Bhain'ne calar! An Gal Scam'Hanach!" Geralt defends her from Hunt wolves as she closes the second. Slashing his sword through the hounds.

"Just one more."

"Mhm. Bhain'ne calar! An Gal Scam'Hanach!" Siphoning the final magic from the portal, ending the freezing spell. The sorceress became noticeably drained and in a weakened state.

"It worked... Da'arian annoi!"

Reminded of the time Triss was left with a bleeding nose, Geralt asked "Keira! What's wrong?" as she began to wobble.

"It'll pass... That took...a great deal of Power." Finally Keira collapsed back from the toll on her strength, finding herself caught in the Witcher’s arms.

As a joke, Geralt told her "Just don't faint on me." To which Keira responded "Now, in your firm embrace? Not on your life." Helping Keira in her attempt to regain her balance. "I'd never do that. Ahem. Love to be able to say we could stay awhile and rest…" Noticing as they remained intimately close when she regained her footing.

"I know, I know. We must...we must...go on..."  Frozen in the silence, erotically arousing hormones overwhelming the slow reactions from her rational mind before they shared a kiss. Pressing their foreheads tightly as they forced their faces to grind further with Keira's hands touching the features of his face while his explored the shapely curves of her side. Had the aroma of fresh corpses not remained present, they would have continued. Forcing themselves to stop, reluctantly, Geralt reminded himself with the thought 'Ciri.'

Suffering a brief moment if akwardness.

Defeating the wild hunt warriors and  scavenging through the notes and alchemy ingredients, Geralt noticed the tingle of his medallion as it started to mildly vibrate. “Strange. My medallion’s trembling, but there’s nothing here...what’s with this wall?”

Keira joined by his side. “It’s an illusion. I sensed it as well.” Then told Geralt “I expected we might run into such a thing, so I brought this.” As she extends her arm, holding a small object.

“Meaning what?”

“The Eye of Nehaleni. It dispels illusions. It’s easy enough to build so you’re welcome to this one. It’s bound to come in handy.” Keira continued to explain in a less characteristic professionalism, then resuming her banter “And each time it does, you will think of me.”

Recalling their previous intimate conversation, Geralt focused on the relic to ignore the possibly intended innuendo. “Huh. Thanks.”

Passing through the opening, Keira could feel a draft. “Do you feel that? A flow of fresh air, from the left. Must be an exit that way.”

“Good. Let’s get out of here.”

Hesitantly, Keira halted him. “Wait. There’s still the magic lamp.”

“A magic what, now?”

“Lamp. The elf promised it to me in exchange for my help. And since his return seems doubtful, I must retrieve it myself.” Keira exclaimed. “If I can find it, that is…” meeting Geralt’s gaze with a small distance between them. “Will you help?”

Reluctantly. Geralt agreed, finding her precious lamp near a small altar with dedications towards Lara Doren. Then... finally. They emerged from the underground and were greeted with the sunlight.

“Whew, at last. But it was worth it, right? You learned something about Ciri in the end, something important.” Keira continued.  Do you intend to venture into Crookback Bog? You must tell me about it afterwards.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Geralt was uncertain “Don't know that I'll get the chance.”   
“Geralt, there are two types of men: those who see opportunity and take advantage, and those who forge the opportunities themselves. I've always seen you as an example of the latter. Besides, I've a favor to ask you. So, visit me some time?”

Seeing both a hint of something...more, and a chance for a possible future ally, Geralt did not hesitate to respond “I’ll stop by. You can be sure.”

Her offer reciprocated, Keira told Geralt “In that case, I shall be waiting.” gleefully smiling as she walked into a conjured portal, leaving Geralt to further his travels through Velen.

1273

"Found me. Congratulations." "Do I get a prize?" "I've nothing on me, but I'll think of something."

They were together, the Sorceress Keira and Witcher Geralt of Rivia, alone, deep in the bog of Vellen with a perfect view of the Fyke Isle. 'Among other things.' Finding her in the night, meeting at the site of two luxurious rug and pillows with burning candles, wine, and lilacs, with only her undergarments still to obstruct her complete nude form.

Months of periodic contact transpiring before tonight, maintaining a subtle, sexually-charged rapport between them.

Taking him into her arms, the pair kissed passionately as each explored the other's mouth and they removed the remains of her clothes and dispelling the entirety of those Keira conjured for him to wear during their date. Continuing to kiss nude in the bog. Feeling him gently grasp her buttoxe and then pulling on him as she fell back. Leaning them both towards the ground, with her back to the bog and Geralt's to the tower across the water and The Mire beyond on the other shore opposite to their's from the isle.

Spreading open her legs, the sorceress felt herself become warm as she watched Geralt proceeded to reach the nexus between her lower limbs, tenderly kissing her legs. Gripping the back of her lower appendages as she wrapped around her lover's neck. The nymphomaniac gawking from her latest distraction, ravaging her body with the sweet, intoxicating surge only to be found from intercourse, to the Tower of Fyke. Gasping open in a smile, Keira raised out her tongue to lick at her chops. Grasping the back of Geralt's grey mane, Keira thought to herself: 'the notes.' Gazing with a wicked glare in her eyes. 'No! Not yet, but soon.' Then she looked back to see Geralt face deep inside of her. 'Very soon. Once my knight and I are finished.'

"Oh, oh fuck. Geralt..." She wanted to say more, so much more. But Keira could not bring herself to—moments like these are all she has, and men like Geralt are rare in supplies.

She changed the intention of her words "Praise the conjunction and the gods." with a aroused smile as Geralt raised himself up. Guiding his hard mass inside her. Whispering into her ear "They have nothing. But the feeling's mutual." and her legs clenched around his side. With their lips then meeting into a more passionate kiss as Geralt thrusted inside her. Keira, clinging her nails tightly to the skin on his back—feeling the imprints from another of his many scars. Both begin panting for breath; smiling at the euphoric release of pressure. The Witch of Midcopse mumbling groans and indiscernible words between their lips. The White Wolf incurious with their meaning, attributing the jibaros to the moment between them overwhelming her focus and control over her lips.

"Mmm," The small burning flames in candles started to grow. "More," The Witch moaned, tightening the squeeze of her legs around his waist "Geralt." before starting to feel her lower limbs relax in sync with her arms as her heart continued to beat at a zenith pace under the moon of a similar zenith form. Glowing down on the wilds to illuminate the fornicating lovers and the surface of water separating their shared bodies from the tower.

Caressing the skin and healed scars along his perfect chest, "heheh" as the Witcher fondled one of her legs with a gentle stroke. Her left hand traversed across the eye-sweet which was his broad chest to touch the short stubbles along his jaw. 'Such a face.' Then, again, they kissed.

Yennefer will hate him, and her, for this act—just as she did Triss—even if the carnal exchange of this Midcopse affair was for only a moment. A mere microcosm by comparison with his time in the company of the sorceress from Maribor, yet a betrayal nonetheless in the eyes of the pious sorceress. A grievance to which no reparation could mend the damage suffered in her relationship.

Ending another kiss, Keira rolled their combined bodies over—making a giddy sigh at the sensation of Geralt's lips on her neck—switching their positions to where she was on top. Saddling him, in a fashion deviating from how she had while on horseback during the start of their date. Feeling his bone stiffen tighter and condense harder inside of her as Keira proceeded to ride the Witcher more roughly. Stroking herself back and forth, grinding against him with a pleased groan "Oh, Geralt...oh, Geralt..." as his palms clinged to her bosoms. Stretching himself upwards, Geralt wrapped a arm around her back—anchoring their chests against each other. His bone digging deeper into her womanhood, as they kissed, sending a shiver of pleasure through their bodies. And this time they did not cleave themselves apart so hastily as Geralt was made to lean on his back. "Oh...Ger-" Leaning delicately backwards, balancing herself with both hands resting on his kneecaps as his palms moved and gripped the sides to her slender waist.

"Fuck?"

"Thaesse, Geralt.” Keira rebuked his guess. “Not yet. Never dare you jest about that." Leaning forward to conjoin their lips.

'None of them deserve you—Not Coral, nor Sabrina, nor Triss, nor Fringilla, nor Cynthia, and especially not Yen. None of them deserved this.'

Her new stallion was perfect. Too long had it been since a man had satisfied her so delightfully, and there was still more pleasure for her to savor. For years she had contemplated in secret for reason as to why her friends craved the Witcher so deeply—perpetuating a passion that nurtured as much negative aspects as there were positives—to understand the meaning behind the constant cycle of a relationship to evolve into affection only to devolve into bitter anger and bile; and from this experience she could presume some of the benefits and grasped their reasons more clearly through her own interpretation.

Again on her back, Keira's legs wrapped against Geralt's near the peak of rapturous delight. Pressing their lips together, Keira whispered between them "Ni'l Voe'rle" Feeling the climax draw closer with each pump Geralt thrust into her body. Their bodies both starting to stiffen, anticipating the final moments, yet, wishing to prolong the experience between them.

Then Metz rolled her eyes up as all was released in a sated scream "Aaaaaaaaah!" in the climax to erupt between them. Snuffing out the final ember to kindle the flames on the candle, and unleashing a rippling wave through the area. Warding off animals and fiends alike close to encroach on their tender moment of carnal bliss, sending the creatures scampering in the opposite directions for the mire and crook bag bog, fearing the cause for such a powerful output of magical force. Staring up into stars with a smile as the pleasure surged, once more, from Geralt into Keira in one last thrust to her body.

Filling the opening with his seed, not attempting to restrain, and allowing himself drop downwards onto Keira's gorgeous, pink-pigmented body one last time. The sorceress savored one final embrace in this, the most memorable tryst of her unnaturally long life. Kissing as the Witcher continued to slowly press his pelvis into her's while he gradually came to a halt. 'What's the harm?’ Keira convinced herself, still wishing him to continue ‘It's not as if we can conceive.' Some sorceresses tried and failed, even Keira herself on a whim.

"Oh Geralt," Metz whispered to him "why did I have to drop on you after Yen and Ciri?" as he tenderly kissed her luscious lips. Neither wanting the moment to ever end for them—to forget about the Witch Hunters and the Wild Hunt. Pulling himself up from a length thrust outward, Geralt answered to her "Circumstances," pulling himself out from inside of her. "Trust me, I wish it had been the other way around, sometimes, too."

Placing himself to rest beside Keira on her left. "Though, to be honest, the day you dropped into my life was certainly memorable." Feeling a complete absence of his vigor; the lust had left them, drained of energy for the moment. A feeling the monster-slayer had not felt since the end of his hunt for Letho and the beginning of the witch hunt. Sharing in the sentiment as she continued to smile with half of her lips lifted, Keira pulled herself closer to Geralt's side and rested her head on his scarred torso, overcome with enamored elation.

Laughing inside mentally, the thought of their first meeting during the coup on Thanedd Island in which she had literally landed on Geralt's person after Artaud Terranova defenestrated her through a window and out into the streets below. When the surprise of her presence to the streets struck Geralt before he regained the power of speech with her slim figure and long, straight straw-colored hair—providing him an unintended peak as their bodies remained intimately close to glimpse the details of her person underneath the horned amalgam skin slippers and green tulle top which failed to distract the eyes away from the small mole above her left breast. A feature Geralt recalled, vaguely, re-emerging during their night together.

A memory of fondness reciprocated in equal measure by Metz "Yes it was, Witcher. Yes it was." remembering only the shattered shards of glass as her body penetrated through the window and then the feel of the handsome man below her to cushion her fall; all before her time to come when she would participate in the formation of the lodge.

Both silently reminiscing on the memory over-and-over again in their minds; Keira shamelessly cuddling against the former mate of her two friends. Geralt ever ignorant to the sorceress' true focus as Keira both longed to revisit that day—to change her history and make Geralt her's—and to pursue her true motivation for tonight. 'Although...the value of the notes do seem a tad mediocre.' By comparison to her gwynbleidd, the prize lying motionless in the tower was nearly deadwood as the advancement of science rivaled the advancement of her own needs.

Her eyes racing back and forth in the white of their sockets as she was fathoming her own machinations and the exhilaration of tonight's outcome. Circling her fingers along his broad chest and once over his stomach, and toying with the chain of the wolf necklace around her index finger. "We can keep the offer going if you'd like a change in...'company.'" Keira started talking to him more suggestively. Kissing his chest in a brief tap. "Maybe enjoy a few days of reclusion?" Focusing on his pale crotch covered in boxers with some ideas in mind for the rest of the night and days to follow.

Despite her loss of luxury, the robbery of her old life from the wake of Loc Muinne, the prospect of days which she could have with Geralt would be a fair exchange. Such losses would be simple to overlook with a sustained distraction like Geralt of Rivia in her line of sight. Constantly.

"Maybe..."

To inform Keira Metz that he was not interested would be lying. On the contrary, Geralt of Rivia was more than interested. He was intrigued in the prospect of the relationship Keira was offering. "I don't want to squander a opportunity," Feeling her hand close to his groin, the Witcher was tempted to resume where they just resolved the amazing conclusion to their intimate encounter; or return to Keira's hut and resume their fairy tale. But he needed to retain some measure of his wits, if he wished to convince her fully to his cause at Kaer Morhen.

"But Ciri is still in trouble, Keira. Plus I still need to settle things with Yen." In the parting of his words, Keira expressed contempt; hiding her face as she continued to stroke his chest. 'Shit.' "Right, Yennefer." 'Yen. Typical as always.' Recognizing the impasse for what it was, Keira could only think 'Of course, Yen, ever the main priority.' No matter how bitter, she would adapt.

Looking back into the darkened sky, she remembered when their dalliance was transgressing, and the Witch of Midcopse looked up seeing the stars above had remained unchanged. Unlike the minds of men. Then she asked "Know what they call that constellation in Zerrikania?"

Sharing in the view, Geralt responds "Dragon something, I bet." "Heh," Keira forced herself to laugh. Understanding that after what she does, she will never be able to repair the damage between them. Reluctantly she continued. "No, it has a different name...a bit indecent, actually. Lean closer and I'll whisper it in your ear." And then when the handsome face turned to her's, Keira Metz whispers to him "Egvane navr."

Thus sending the white wolf into a deep slumber, closing the Witcher's eyes and forcing Geralt to rest without a second to realize her actions or a moment to react. Leaving only a disappointed Keira to retain all her faculties while her lover slept.

"Somehow my female intuition knew you'd refuse me, but still…" Keira whispered to Geralt. The Witcher ever ignorant to her words. "A pity that you won't. It's been ages since a 'real' man has laid with me." Dressing herself once again in her undergarments, Keira looked down on the knight of her fairy tale night and wanting again to take him—to cast a new spell tonight, just as Vigo once attempted, and aid Geralt in forgetting of his ill conceived desires for Yen and Triss. But knew deep in her heart and mind Geralt's obsession with his toxic relationship to Yen would always dominate.

'I plan to be in Redania by the time you wake, and, hopefully, I will be.'

"This is stupid, you foolish old girl," Keira mocked herself "I was made twice a fool to believe ...oh, did I expect a rose of remembrance? It doesn't matter." Her remaining clothes nearby, Keira wanted more but knew she never could. Narrowing her gaze down on the center of his chest to notice a small quantity of crimson liquid on his body. 'I must have scratched when we lost control.' "Still…" Her pupils dilated as she continued to look longingly on his sleeping body "I can claim one benefit from tonight, besides Alexander's notes." Wiping the stain from his body before a glow irradiated from within her palm and the scratches healed themselves partially. With a faint impression of the scratch still lingering. Feeling the urge return vigorously at the touch of her finger to his pale skin, "But I suppose this is only the natural response to the taste of a forbidden fruit…" leaning down with her barely clothed body over his "The desire becomes...insatiable." Licking her tongue over his crest, Keira guided her head upwards to kiss Geralt. One. Last. Time. 'I take it back. I don't feel sorry for Yen or Triss.' Yen must hate Triss for trying to steal Geralt from her for a second time, so she knows what to expect in the future. She only wished to ensure the deed was worth the betrayal. Parting finally, Keira thought 'Every moment of agony: Worth it.' Leaving him behind as she walked away, dressing herself along the path. The Sorceress of Carreras, once again, alone.

Hours later. Staring dreamingly into the blueness and white smoke of the sky and clouds. "Keira…? Where?" Geralt gasped, finally awakening on the beach with his swords planted where Keira's voluptuous figure had been resting beside him the night before. Sitting up, all the items from their night before left untouched and his clothes returned to him "Put me to sleep with a spell." Then his gaze survey his surrounding "Which means she's up to something." as the white wolf contemplated the motive of her actions, then turned to the island across the water and the tower consuming all attention from the trees and derelict homes as it protruded above the mist at a height to—from the distance to which Geralt was from the structure—nearly rival the towering height of the giant tree further south, a sight to which he remained ignorant of throughout his night with Keira, and a angry realization washed over him. "Ah, Fyke Isle. The Tower." Recalling how Keira had become keenly curious to the state of Alexander's lab after he finished the favor. Only mentioning Alexander had guarded some research note jealously before the island was abandoned and Geralt set his first step. Clearing away the pesta Annabelle and ghouls from the island.

Taking his swords in hand, Geralt rushed through the bog to neighbor midcopse—slaughtering and disemboweling the drowners and other manner of fiends to block his path—for the sailing boat docked closely to Keira's concealed hunt. Not thinking to even call out for Roach or to steal a horse to lessen the distance of his marathon in the fens and moors. Angry with Metz, furious he had been manipulated and unhappy their night was just another game. Setting the sails, and kicking the boat away from the shore before any further monsters could arrive and distract him from the course—wanting urgently to avert the fruition of this unknown scheme Keira had concocted, uncertain of the consequences her actions would have.

Teetering across the water of Lake Wyndamer, gradually reaching to the island's shores between Oreton and Frischlow, Geralt contemplated the actions he would take—the words he would use—praying the worse will not come to pass.

'I need her help, to protect Ciri. But she may just leave anyway, or make things worse for me in the process.' They had sex; passionate...wild...rough sex; if Keira wished to she could use this to cause further harm in his relationship with Yen—not that much remained for Keira to wreak havoc due in the most part to the state to which it declining.

Again on the island, the professional monster-slayer marched through the land cautiously; slashed, hacked and hewed many of the necrophages, leaving body parts in his wake—decapitating heads, amputating the limbs, and occasionally bisected a few in half—in his path to reach the tower. Looking to the top floor in his progress a sight demanded his heightened attention. "A light. Top floor of the tower." Reaching the derelict fortifications where the gates once held firm, now broken from the siege, and the walls struggled to maintain themselves in a damning state of disrepair within less than ten minutes. Stepping through the opening, cleaning away the blood from his silver sword, Aerondight, with a single wipe, Geralt sheathed his weapon before noticing movement through the open doorway. Walking forward, the Witcher waited at the bottom of the stairs leading to the open doorway for the source of movement to emerge. Eventually.

The sour of his angry gaze finally meeting with Keira's as she exited to the top of the stairs. Her former luxurious clothes turned to dregs still preserved mildly while her straw blonde hair retained hints from the previous night. Glancing to her side to glimpse her prize fastened to her slender waist as she descended the staircase.

Asking, coldly "So. Found what you were looking for?" focusing his vision briefly on the locked parchment rolled closed before Keira blocked his gaze from further glimpses to her side with a gesture from her hand covering the papers. Responding "Yes, thanks for asking. How are you feeling? Sleep well?" Not shying from the source of Geralt’s bitter ire.

"What do you want with those papers?"

"Why, I aim to use them to continue important work that a man's tragic death put on hold."

Geralt continued to stare back into her gaze. Cynically.

Keira makes a tired expression, explaining "Alexander was studying the Catriona Plague. I'll use his notes to produce medication, perhaps a cure...or at least a vaccine."

Geralt remained unconvinced by her case to the advancement of learning. "Mhm. Strictly humanitarian motivations, is that it?"

"No. Strictly selfish ones." Keira explained, unashamed. "The mighty would pay willingly for such a remedy. Can you imagine how much? Take Radovid, for instance. Why, he might even consider forgetting my past association with the Lodge."

Geralt reproached her hopes. Seeking only to make a point, not offend. "You're either incredibly gullible...or you're trying to play me again."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Radovid has one objective—to defeat Emhyr. Curing Catriona, stopping the plague, won't help him do that. So he'll either burn you at the stake with those notes among the kindling...or he'll make you use them—to create a weapon."

"Don't be ridiculous. Bacteria cannot be controlled."

"Not yet...But it's possible in theory, isn't it?"

"In theory it's just as possible for a dachshund to impregnate a she-wolf." "Keira retorted, frustrated by with Geralt—and not in the means she prefered. Wanting to leave. Now. "I don't have time for this, Geralt. I'm going to see Radovid, whether you like it or not."

"It's your conscience, but you do know hundreds...thousands could die."

"What of it? What difference does it make if Nilfgaard's legions die by steel or some fucking germ? None!"

"A plague can go wrong, go wild. A sword won't. That's the difference."

Keira could suffer this parlay no longer, and turns to face Geralt. "Shut up for a moment and look at me."

Shrugging his shoulders, Geralt could see no incongruity in her usually exquisite beauty...then she pulled up her arm. "See this? Bedbugs, Geralt. Bloody bedbugs! I, Keira Metz, advisor to Foltest and member of the Lodge of Sorceresses, have bed bugs." Aiding in Geralt to grasp some understanding for the sense of her own urgency. "Think what you will of me, but I'll not stay in this bloody swamp one day more. Not one day!"

The sorceress faced towards the swamp, directing her focus to Redania territory.

"I shall cross the Pontar, and that means Radovid's men will find me sooner or later. Don't you understand? I don't have a choice. I will have to parley."

"There's always a choice." Geralt soon joined by her side, facing her again. "There are other options, Keira. We could—"

"We?!" Keira interrupted him. "How is there a we? You were never hunted, Geralt. Not by someone like Radovid or these zealot witch hunters."

"That's bullshit, Keira, and you know it! I was hunted twice, for regicide and again before by the Wild Hunt. And both times I found a way to escape and out play the hunters in the past." the witcher continued to argue. "Why don't you want to at least let me try?"

"Because unlike the rest, I have no leverage left if you're wrong. Nothing! Do you understand, Geralt? You had Yen and then you had Triss, I've nothing but a mark for death. And when this ends, if I'm still alive, I will still have nothing and still be alone. How can you possibly...I don't care, I'm going. As I said before, think what you will of me but I’ll not stay in this bloody swamp one day more. Not one day!" Keira prepared to summon herself a portal when Geralt gripped her left arm by the wrist.

"Keira stop. Just stop and let me explain this to you." pleading with her, needing to reason with her now more than ever. "I can help you hide, until Radovid is no longer a concern…" halting Keira in her tracks "And we can talk about the rest later."

"The rest…?" Keira asked him. Leaving her question unsimplified. Geralt finished the rest for her.

"I'm not with Yen. Maybe for good. The same with Triss...if you-"

"What!?"

"I ended things with Yen before I started helping you. Days ago before traveling here. And never intended to resume my relationship with Triss. I just-" Keira stopped Geralt in mid sentence. "Shut up for one moment, do you mean to say you wish to continue our arrangement? Regardless to what has transpired."

"I'm willing to look the other way and continue the agreement. Maybe, more than agreed. If you still wish to." Whispering to her lowly with a husky tone. Time became lost for the two, feeling her body begin to heat-up like a fire; Keira, hearing all she needed to peak her interest, formed a crooked smile before pulling the witcher closer to join her body in embrace with his and the space between their lips dissipated. Both relieved at their common loss of personal space.

Guided against the outer cobblestone wall at the tower lower level, the White Wolf gripped her waist as she pawed near his manhood before gripping his face to force the kiss more deeply, progressing the encounter to become more passionate and he proceeded to kiss down towards her cleavage, almost feeling the texture of the mole along her breast and the cold touch of her ankh pendant—distracting the Witcher as she conjured her spell, spouting additional indiscernible words mumbled after the kiss intensified—and summoned a portal to engulf them. Unfastening his belt and her bodice as they disappeared, stepping back inside her hut. Keira gasping against him as the witcher hoisted her in his arms; Geralt lifted Keira to one of the many tables as they continued to undress, removing his trousers and her wares, proceeding with their tryst; anchoring her in his grip tightly by the outstretching of her legs. The witch of Midcopse in joyous surprise as he thrusted his hip against her; pressing her against the locked door feverishly kissing her neck and cleavage while the sorceress moaned in the euphoric delight. “Mmm…” Failing to notice the time of day and the location of Alexander's notes as Sorceress and Witcher became equally lost in the arms of the other—their tattered clothes discarded in a inconsistent trail along the floor at the sorceress' bedside.

Using her magic, in the briefest of moments when she could manage coherent thoughts, the sorceress summoned a veil of magic to conceal themselves and the hut they resided within—convinced Yen would be searching for them soon, and feared the dark haired sorceress' magic would enable her to track them and did not wish to suffer her reprisal, nor the chance of a jealous Yen intruding on this blissful moment between them—as Keira rested her body on his, kissing the Gwynbleidd fervently. Feeling the delight surge into her and his memories washing through to mix with her own; glimpsing a window from the capital city Vizima, the ruins of a Elven Bath and the tent in a military camp as their tryst continued; seething whilst they pressed together, determined to make those memories irrelevant and graciously forgotten after their many exchanges. Rolling themselves around to rest her head on the pillow. The matters he wished to speak of became forgotten, for the moment as their situation transpired, but it would arise later. Keira could handle matters of business, like she had when he first visited, and matters of pleasure like her many partners before the witch hunts. Matters of business and pleasure were woven together intricately, in this regard, and loved the thought from the passionate embrace as she came below the witcher wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms to his neck while he continued; hips bucking underneath him. Reaching their pinnacle, Keira exhaled up in a satisfied smile. The conclusion culminated with release as the pair were rendered exhausted, tenderly kissing one another before resting their bodies side-by-side. Post-coitus, panting with a smile, Keira pulled the covers over their naked bodies; glimpsing one final gaze at the notes resting on the floor among their tattered and wrinkled clothes, as she returned to resting at his side in repose. Her hand caressing the flesh of his broad chest and ribs, Keira declared in her mind 'This is mine!' as the lovers began to slumber. Voluntarily. Resting as the spell continued to work its magic over the hut, shielding them from prying eyes.

Hours later…

Shifting beneath the sheet, Keira was awoken from her sleep as the white wolf seated himself to see the cloak of night polluting the woods, glimpsing through the open window of Metz's hut.

"Oren for your thoughts, handsome?" Keira flirted, wrapping a free arm around his chest. The second holding the covers over her body. Geralt smiled. Rubbing his pam gently over her slender arm and hand. "I hope there's no second thought bouncing around in that head of your's."

"No. Of course not, Keira." he assured her. "Just planning ahead for when I leave, to prepare."

"Would these preparation have any connection to why you returned to visit me?"

"I was always coming back to see you. I was just side-tracked along the way." Geralt began to explain, shifting his body around, facing her "We're planning to bring Ciri back to Kaer Morhen, when I find her. We believe the Wild Hunt will try to capture her once we do. The others suggested inquiring about help, speaking with some of our allies. I decide to visit you first."

"What happens when you're finished, and Cirilla's safety is secure?" Keira asked him. Their bodies close to each other. "Do we continue this, Or..." Still gripping his hand. Moving closer, Geralt responded "When I'm done, 'we' can do as we please…" leaving the meaning of those future moments to Keira's own flight of fancy. "Disappear far away from the lodge, where none can find us. With plenty of your reclusion."

Keira shared in a smile, aligning her body with his as they tapped a kiss on the other's lips. "What of Yen?" feeling her skin burn as the heat became more intensely. "Do you suppose she will search for you and I? Perhaps, grow curious for your activity. Unless, of course, you plan to tell her yourself."

"No. Eventually Yen will discover the truth on her own, either by snooping around or someone learns and tell her later. Yen might hear the truth from us if you wish her to know." Again Geralt tapped a kiss. "I just need a response," 

Dropping the covers and exposing herself to only his cat eyes, reacquainting him with the pleasant view, Keira explored his mouth in a fervent kiss to follow. Clasping the handsome face between her hands, Keira smiled. "Well in that case…" pulling the Witcher back into bed "Of course," The Witcher tenderly kissing her neck, "Why not say so from the start?" And then, swiftly, Geralt silenced her moans. The couple woven together in a illicit embrace as they made love.

Within months they would hitherto disembark from the Northern Kingdoms—abandoning the landscape to possess the hamlet Midcopse, the derelict Tower of Fyke isle, and the free city Novigrad—before the advent of further events while traveling into the Great Sea and far from the chaos of the Nilfgaard invasion and, most importantly to the prudent concern, the Witch Hunt zealots burning the unfortunate souls to become ensnared in the violent mass hysteria. A fate Keira Metz was only too gleeful to escape, returning below deck after one final glance towards the continent.

She won.


	3. Bitter Desires

**Bitter Desires**

**September, 1271**

Their bodies collided in the violet hour.

Seething in fervent embrace as their bodies connect, the sorceress raptured in carnal delight as his hand cupped her breast and another tenderly caressed her thigh.

The water. Splash! Lurching in gradual reaction as his passion thrust into her body. Arching her back against his chest. Moaning with a open smile.

Feeling the cold touch of his medallion.

Gazing up at the banal ceiling, devoid of decoration or the glamor she had become accustomed to when a advisor in the royal court. Relaxing her head on his shoulder they kissed and the near last of their passion released inside of her.

Bringing the mage of Maribor to her knees, gripping the walls of their tub, sighing in sated breath and moaning as the final thrusts were becoming less frequent and prolonged. Her wet, red hair dangling down around her face and ear. She smiled at the touch of her lover when the spellsword placed one hand over her own, giggled as he kissed her neck, then the thrust resumed. Looking across their room to the preserved rose beside his swords when, at last, they climaxed. Her eyelids closing with a elated expression while her body was twitching after the final push with shaking breath. The vast fibers of her being feeling uneasy as she was recovering from the blissful experience.

She and the albino were breathless, panting in the isolated abode, and she was still smiling. They proceeded to relax back into a seating position. Motioning her body around to face him for another impassioned kiss. Caressing his cheeks with her hand and his stoked against her back and neck while their lips collided.

She was happy, she loved him, but knew this would not last.

**1272**

Preparing the essentials.

Triss Merigold was ready to leave, there was nothing left for her here. The remainder of her stay in the Novigrad residence merely temporary, she only required to collect some things. Forming her lips into a quivering warm smile as she directed her cornflower colored eyes to the rediscovered rose of remembrance, holding the rose in her fingers. The rose still purple as the day Geralt gifted it to her. The Fourteenth of the Hill blushing as she remembered her lover and the warmth of his touch...having attempted to banish every thought of the White Wolf since they parted...wanting the sting to stop. To not think of the witcher again, the touch of his lips, nor the fervor of his embrace.

Though the decision was mutual, Triss was heartbroken.

_He’s probably reunited with Yen by now_ …She attempted to dissuade herself from the thought of reuniting with Geralt of Rivia. _He always will, eventually._

The flower was merely a painful reminder of what she desired and could never have, but could not part with the flower so easily. _Strange...it’s barely wilted._

And then a violent pounding. The first sound to not normally occur in Hierarch Square.

Knock! Knock!

The door holding as men yelled, promising her beautiful face would adorn a burning stake.

Finally she tossed the rose to the floor and bolted for a prepared portal.

Knock! Knock!

She would be long gone before they realized. With one final melancholic look towards the rose, Triss quickly exited through the portal vortex and in an instant the portal, too, would vanish.


End file.
